


Priorities and Profanity

by Rulerofthefakeempire



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BAMF Leia Organa, Force-Sensitive Hux, Fun, Humour, Hux POV, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, The End Is Nigh, seriously though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-01 00:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6493270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rulerofthefakeempire/pseuds/Rulerofthefakeempire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That isn’t all I can tell them, and I know it and they know it, and there is really nothing anybody could do about it, so the Jedi comes storming over and tries wholeheartedly to do something about it.</p>
<p>Also, Jedis and their fucking lightsabers. Really. You can’t get any more infantile than a grown man waving a glow stick around and trying to look scary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I stare up at the steel ceiling and a long string of profanity goes my head. And then I say some out loud. And then I go back to thinking it because my throat hurts because I spent the first two hours (or I think it was two hours. No windows, very difficult to tell time) screaming insults, obscenities, and carefully calculated, strategic slips of completely made up secrets at the walls. I only did this in order to make them think that I’m valuable. Which I am, I just don’t want them to know how valuable I am. Because if I’m not valuable, they’ll probably kill me. And if they know how valuable I actually am, they’ll probably kill me harder.

And I’m very dedicated to not dying. I think if I’m going to die, I want to be very rich while doing it, and preferably surrounded by books, tea, and have my cat. Speaking of which, where is my cat?

They probably haven’t killed her; the whole point of them is that they’re the nice ones. But if they have I’m going to throw a bitch fit. A really loud one. With more screaming.

And maybe I’ll bite somebody.

And what happened to that pilot and his traitor friend? Also, I’m hungry. And tired.

I think up some more profanity and the door opens, which is weird because usually they at least let me stew for a couple more hours. I wonder if they’re going to feed me or torture me. To be honest I don’t really mind, as long as they feed me after they torture me.

I look over to the door, and a young man holding a tray looks back. And more importantly the tray has semi-edible food on it, and whoever the man is immediately becomes very insignificant. I abruptly sit up and gesture for the man at the door to give me the tray, which he does. Food is stuffed into my face before it’s even on my lap and I love it. And I didn’t even have to go though torture. As far as I’m concerned, other than the whole capture thing, this whole shindig is going great. It’s only when I reach the bread roll (slightly stale by the way) that I decide that it’s probably time to look up at the man at the door, considering he isn’t leaving.

Jedi robes.

Fucking Jedis.

Always thinking there better than everyone else.

Douchebags.

Not to go into specifics, but eyes were rolled.

I continue to eat and the Jedi just stands there like he’s waiting to be addressed. It’s probably a bad sign that they’re already sending in a Jedi, but it’s not important. As long they’re not going to kill me, I’m cool.

And then suddenly I feel the Jedi prodding at my head. I roll my eyes and push back. He pushes harder and I take on the pasta. It’s really bad and has the texture of soggy cardboard, but that’s not the point. The Jedi pushes harder still, and it’s a little pointless, I’m not letting him in. Can’t fault his persistence though.

He seems to grow irritated and I finish the meal, what little there was. It’ll do for a couple days.

I sit back in satisfaction and look at the Jedi under leaded eyelids, picking at my teeth. The Jedi growls at me, pressing firmly against my mind. I make no move to budge.

I want my coat back. They took it off me. Maybe if I’m nice to the Jedi he’ll give me my coat and my cat back. That’s still probably not going to happen, but it’s a nice notion.

“Look honey, I’m not letting you in, so you’re just going to have to tell me what you want with your big boy words.”

He seems to grow further agitated and I can tell because he’s still trying to force his way into my head and he’s not very good at concealing his emotions. If I had my gloves right now I’d be pulling them off just to show him how little I care.

Fucker.

He growls at me again and I gaze back. And then he storms out; the door sliding aggressively closed beside him. Little bit of an overreaction I’d say.

Heh.

Jedis really just can’t take failure. But then, it’s really none of my business. So I put the tray on the floor and lie back down again and take a nap.

 

….

 

“What an asshole.”

“What an _asshole_.”

“All he did was pick his teeth at you.”

“You don’t understand: I didn’t get anything. He wouldn’t be able to do that unless his was properly trained.”

“You know Ben, it’s really fine. Some men just have trouble finishing. No big deal.”

“Shut up Poe.”

“Just looks like we’re going to have to go back to the original methods.”

“You’re not going to believe what he’s doing now.”

“What?”

“He’s fallen asleep.”

“Wow…”

“What. An _._ Asshole.”

 

….

 

When I wake up, the pilot is standing over me. He looks at me squarely and I sit up on my elbows and look at him squarely back.

“Can I help you?”

He leans against the wall like some sort of suave movie hero. I bet he thinks he’s suave. He runs his tongue over his front teeth and smiles at me. I wonder why they sent the pilot, of all people. Surely even the resistance has errand boys, because all I keep getting are emotionally overwrought Jedis and pilots. And at least the Jedi brought food, these one just looks kind of disgruntled and charming.

“The commander wants to see you.”

“What commander? I don’t remember any commander.” I can’t understand why people keeping coming into my cell and acting like I’m meant to understand what’s going on. It’s not like anybody tells me anything. They just stick me in cells and try to dig around in my brain.

He rolls his eyes at me and I want to roll my eyes back, but that somehow seems childish so I just snarl at him instead as he binds my hands and I think about some more profanity. I think this whole experience really has helped my creativity levels.

Fuckers.

 

….

 

“What does he even have to offer us? All he’s done is take a nap and complain into the security cameras.”

“But why was he a captive?”

“Why is it important?”

“Because the First Order doesn’t _take captives_. It just kills people.”

“Well maybe they just got so annoyed with the fact that he’s a total fucking asshole that they just decided to throw him in the brig.”

“ _Language._ ”

 

….

 

I have to admit. I have never been gladder to see a fruit basket in my whole life. If I were starving on a planet made of sand and the occasional mayfly, I would not be as grateful as I am now. I take an apple from it as soon at the opportunity arises.

And also there’s this woman who’s looking at me from the head of a large dinning table and it’s very disturbing because it feels like I’ve seen her before, but I can’t remember who she is. And there’s also the Jedi, and he’s looking even more emotional than before. And of course there’s also the traitor friend and immediately the pilot goes and stands next to him, despite the fact that I now stand unshackled and unrestrained.

I think that one of them is going to ask me a dumb question now.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

There it is.

“No. But I was wondering if I could have my cat and my coat back.”

There is silence from the other end of the room, and I wonder what they were expecting. Did they really think that they could just ask one question with no good answer and I would fall sobbing to the floor? I’m honestly a little offended.

I’ve been captured by hippies trying to change the universe and the first thing they do is insult me with petty little questions like that? If having them know who I am wouldn’t result in me being dead I’d tell them right now and watch them convulse with astonishment.

The Jedi snarls and I snarl back and I have to give some merit to the woman’s composure. The pilot and his traitor friend are already having some other conversation to themselves. I figure they’re very dedicated to each other. Adorable.

“You can have your coat back when you tell me what you were doing in the brig of a First Order fleet ship.”

I want a cigarette and I chew thoughtfully on my apple.

“What about my cat?”

“You can have that back as well, just as long as you tell us what you were doing in the brig.”

“I was captured.”

She looks a little pained for a moment and the Jedi throws his arms up in the air. I smirk at them and take another bite of the fruit.

“I’m going to need a little more information.”

Again, her composure really does deserve some sort of serious commendation.

“Look,” I drawl in some uncivilized manner, “I was picked up just outside the southern quadrant, then they put me in the brig and that’s all I can tell you.” That isn’t all I can tell them, and I know it and they know it, and there is really nothing anybody could do about it, so the Jedi comes storming over and tries wholeheartedly to do something about it.

Also, Jedis and their fucking lightsabers. _Really_. You can’t get any more infantile than a grown man waving around a glow stick and trying to look scary. I don’t even startle when he slams me against the wall and holds his glow stick very close to my jugular. And don’t get me wrong, I’m very attached to my jugular, especially when it’s intact, but he’s just so gosh darn predictable. Really, what else was he going to do?

“Ben,” comes the stern response from the woman, but he’s obviously not paying attention to her. He’s staring at me and I’m staring back, and I can feel his rage, and it’s like some sort of alpha male, circling bullshit. And I can’t tell whether I’m participating or not. Also, the Jedi had eyes like black holes and it really pisses me off because it feels like I might be falling into them.

“ _Ben!_ ” It comes again.

And after a few moments, he backs away, putting his glow stick back into its holster, not breaking eye contact with me. I don’t look away till he does.

“Ben, go and find your cousin.” He looks back at her, away from me and my shoulders accidentally slump. I straighten them as quickly as I can, but I can see the pilot looking at me. I growl at him.

“But-”

“Now.”

His nose twitches, but he does as he’s told. Glaring the whole time. He’s like a child.

I look back at the woman and step back off the wall. I sit down this time, at the other end of her lengthy table, partly in an effort to appear aloof, but mostly in order to be closer to the fruit bowl. They really don’t make an effort to feed you on First Order ships.

The woman looks at me over a pair of spectacles.

“Well considering that the other question seems to be a little too difficult, lets try with something simpler, what’s you’re name?”

I cringe at her.

“Charlie.” I say. I’m on the run; its not like I’m just going to not have a spare name on hand. “Charlie Maddox. And you ma’am?” I’m a horrible person, but at least I’m polite, that was something.

“Leia Oragna, commander of the resistance.” She gestures to the pilot and his traitor friend. “And this is my chief pilot Poe Dameron and Finn, his partner.”

I wonder what she means by ‘partner’, but I hope it means what I think it means, because it’s been fifteen minutes and I’m already planning their wedding in my head.

“Pleasure to meet you. Now, might I enquire why I’m being kept here? Also, didn’t someone promise me my coat and my cat?”

The woman’s, Leia’s, face contorts as if she’s resisting rolling her eyes and there’s a snort from the traitor friend, but I don’t look at him because if he recognizes me I’ll be executed so fast I’ll break the sound barrier.

 

….

 

“He’s still an asshole.”

“I don’t know; I like him.”

“I like his cat.”

“What about totally flaming asshole goes past you two?”

“The flaming asshole bit.”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t even matter, we have no reason to keep him.”

“Where is he being released?”

“Kore, that market planet. We’ll be there in an hour.”

 

…

 

Kore is the way that it’s always been. Boisterous, loud, crowded. It’s all pushing and pickpocketing and yelling. Much to my surprise, it’s the grumpy Jedi who escorts me out. He’s changed out of his Jedi robes at least, back into civilian clothes. We don’t speak at the door opens, to reveal the hanger in which they docked their ship. Through the great doors at the south end you can see out onto the bustling street. I make a beeline for it, not even saying goodbye to the Jedi. Then again, I don’t think it’s required.

Plus, the guy’s a douchebag. At least I’m free now.

Of course, then someone tackles me and whatever plan I have goes to shit. I find myself struggling underneath heavy figure, pushing against a chest and doing some more screaming because, well, it just seems appropriate. I am a firm believer in screaming when someone tackles you.

And then whoever it is sits up, and it’s the Jedi, and goddamit I knew this was going to happen. Fuck me. He looks down at me accusingly, curses, gets shot in the back, collapses and leaves me pinned to the floor because he’s a fucking giant.

And here I am, getting captured by the opposing team, and I’m probably going to be put in a cell and not fed me and fuck, why does this keep happening?

Fuck.

 

 


	2. The Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today on: do not fuck with Hux

The thing that I liked about the resistance’s cells was at least they had beds, admittedly not very comfortable beds, but beds nonetheless. And I didn’t have to share with anybody. And that is way more than I can say for this hellhole. At least we have a window now, a big one; thick glass, a little foggy. I sit next to it with my cat and my ankle attached to a chain that was attached to the wall.

The Jedi groans a little like he has anything to complain about.

He’s fine. He was wearing armor under his clothes the bastard; he’s just over dramatic and decided that as soon as he under goes a small injury it’s time to pass out and groan a lot. How useless is that? I wonder if he’s doing this just because I called him honey. I bet he is, that asshat.

And really. I thought that Jedi’s were meant to be all tough and assertive and trained for like forever. I have just gotten the worst, most useless, juvenile, incompetent jedi to ever stumble his way around the universe and all he can do it prod at people’s heads and get shot. Fuck me.

He’s over the other end of the room. Also attached to the wall. Passed out, and stripped of the top half of his civilian clothing. I did that. I figured that if he died commander In-Control-Of-Her-Emotions might actually hunt me down and have me beheaded, and I super duper don’t want to get beheaded. Actually, if people could stop making threats on my life, I would really fucking appreciate it. Because I don’t want to die, I really, really don’t want to die. That’s why I left the First Order in the first place, what on earth is the point of climbing the ranks like I’m meant to only to get assassinated once you’re there?

No thank you.

Not being dead is very high on my list of priorities, No.1 in fact.

The Jedi is curled into himself in the other corner, across from me so that I can just see his face and horrendous personality aside, his face isn’t too bad. I mean, could be worse. Good cheek bones, some sort of fashionable scuff of a beard, good facial structure. And damn, I saw those eyes up close. You could descend into those eyes and not emerge for days.

Pity he’s such a maniac.

Or maybe he isn’t. I don’t know. It’s none of my business.

The Jedi groans again, and I think he might be waking up, which really isn’t great because the dude’s annoying and No.2 on my list of priorities is ‘avoiding annoying people’.

Ten minutes later and low and behold, one eye cracks open, and then another. He looks at me blankly for a moment and I look at him back.

“Howdy.”

He looks at me like I just told him that I make a really good cheesecake and he has no idea how that applies to the situation.

“Where are we?”

It seems kind of pointless, him asking me that. He knows where we are, there’s only one place we could be and it’s not like that’s going to change anytime soon.

“Where do you think we are?”

“Some sort of brig?”

“Ten points to Jedi.”

He looks annoyed, but I don’t know what he wants me to do about it. I’m stuck in a cell with an overdramatic Jedi and my cat. At this point I really shouldn’t be held accountable for my actions anymore.

“You’re an asshole.”

I roll my eyes. That was weak. Really.

“Say what you will, Jedi. I’ve heard worse.”

…

“What are they doing?”

“Arguing mostly.”

“With each other?”

“Yeah, but like really petty. Hux just told him that Jakku wants it’s fashion style back.”

“Well that does sound like him, have we gotten any intel on the man?”

“Yes ma’am, he’s the son of Leia Organa, commander of the resistance.”

“Since when does Hux hang out with the resistance?”

…

 

Theoretically, and I do mean theoretically, if I kicked him in the crotch really, really hard, I think I might be able to make him choke on his own balls.

I think confinement is making me more vulgar. And I didn’t even know that was possible, I assumed that then you’re raised by a militarian society, you just reach peek vulgarity at age ten and then just continue for the rest of you’re life at that level. Apparently, I was wrong.

The Jedi grumbles into his arms. He’s lying on his stomach while his back bruises a harsh purple. It takes every bone in my body not to poke it, but with increasing vulgarity comes increasing will power, so I don’t. I just wait for Phasma to show up, and she will, because she loves it when I’m in cells and shit. Must be like a holiday for her. Not that she’s ever actually had a holiday. You don’t get holidays in the First Order, just training, psychological issues that haunt you into far later life, and really bad food. I honestly can tell you which one of those three scars you the most.

I hated training, hated it like the end of the universe itself. Most because when a fist comes flying at me my basic instinct is just to look at it with a mildly surprised expression, instead of y’know, getting out of the way. Needless to say, I’ve had my nose broken a few times.

But, let me tell you, getting you’re nose broken is a really wonderful incentive to get out of the way next time.

I got better at it, but I still hated it.

The door slides open and low and behold there she is. Queen of whatever isn’t a holiday, breaker of my nose on several occasions, childhood friend, Captain Fuck-Off-Hux Phasma. She’s wearing that shiny armor, but is holding her helmet under her arm so that we can see her face. I watch with some sort of sick satisfaction the Jedi crane his neck to look up at her. God I hope she’s taller than him. Please, please, please.

She looks down at him with some sort of scathing expression. I love it. But then she looks at me and I love it less.

“Hello, Hux.”

“Really? Are we really going to do the whole ‘hello Hux’ thing? Have we not known each other long enough for us not to just mindlessly assert our names to one another every time we meet?”

She shrugs because of course she does. She’s a horrible human being, what else is she going to do?

“Hello, Hux.”

The Jedi watches the exchange with some sort of look of either discomfort or confusion.

I roll my eyes, and it’s unclear even to me which one I’m doing it at.

Obviously, if I want answers to the questions I have, I have to actually ask them, which really is just a bore.

“Is father aboard?”

When I was a child, I had been tempted to call him ‘dad’ but apparently we didn’t have that type of relationship

“No. He’s back at base.”

Dammit, you see, this is why I’m so gosh darn vulgar, bad parenting. His son runs away from a militarian society and he sends fucking Phasma. No wonder I’m so screwed up.

“But he wants me to bring you back to him.”

Of course he does, its not like he’s going to send the commander of storm troopers to give me my bag and some cash. Not that I need money, I have all the money I need, I’ve been getting a generous allowance since I was eleven and hardly spent a thing.

I need nothing except to be left the fuck alone.

…

“You fucker.”

“Okay.”

“You’re with the First Order.”

“I ran away from the First Order, aren’t you meant to be in favor of that?”

“…”

“So it only took you twenty years?”

“It takes a while okay? Have you ever tried to escape the First Order? It’s fucking hard.”

“I still don’t affiliate with deserters, regardless of what they’re deserting.”

“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

…

You know what? My whole life I have been told exactly what to do, and I have done it exactly. I have been the perfect fucking student, in that perfect fucking place, and yeah, sure I’m a horrible person, my moral compass is about as deluded as the Jedi, but goddamnit, am I not allowed to just do whatever the fuck I want? I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself thank you very much

I smash one of the security cameras with the chain I broke.

I don’t even want to be in charge, I just like telling people what to do. Being in charge sucks, it means that whenever something goes wrong it’s always your fault. And it’s like ‘what do you want from me? I can’t develop physic powers so that I can always tell when someone’s fucking up’.

My life is not my fucking fault.

And I am so done of people telling me what to do, and breaking my nose, and making me show up on time for shit. I mean really, it is not my problem that nobody wanted me to be born, that’s fine, whatever, but now I have to be punished for it? Christ, I deserve better. It’s not like I just thought one day ‘you know what I think you really pissed them off? Being born, yeah, I bet that’d be annoying.’

I smash the other security camera because I am so fucking done. I am done, done done. I am no longer going to be silent, and subtle and cunning. For once it’s going to be me breaking someone’s nose and they are going to deserve it.

I whip my chain against the walls, making as much sound as I can.

“Come and get me you motherfucking bitch nuggets! I’m done, I’m done! You don’t get to push me around anymore! I will fucking fight you sick bastards! Fight me!” I lash the chain harder against the walls because nobody gets to fuck leave me rotting in a cell anymore, I will not wait to be released, I will not wait to be tortured or given food or be mocked. I will no longer be passive, I will be enraged and powerful and I’ve been training since I was an eight year old and I will make them regret ever giving me the skills I have, and I will wield them to my advantage. And they will fear me. They will be scared.

And for the love of god, for the first time in my whole fucking life I will demand that I be set free and if they say no I will simply become free anyway.

I am the motherfucking revolution. And I will not be stopped.

…

“The fuck was that!”

“We’re getting out of here.”

“What? How? And don’t look at me like that.”

“Lets dance.”

…

The butt of my inherited gun slams into the side of his helmet and he falls. The Jedi shoots another in front of him, and rams his shoulder into the abdomen of another. And you know what, fuck him. He’s barely doing anything. I throw a grenade and huddle behind the Jedi. There’s no wall nearby so he’ll have to do. The explosion sends shrapnel flying, not enough to kill the Jedi, but enough that it was a good move hiding behind him.

And I’ve not made a bunch of good moves today, so I’ll take what I can get thank you very much.

I spring out from behind him and dash for the other end of the corridor, over the bodies. I don’t have time for bodies. The Jedi comes after me and storm troopers file in. We shoot before blinking happens and they fall.

Lets face it; I know this ship inside out. I grew up in ships like these, and it’s not like the First Order cares for variety. And there’s this side corridor in all B11 corridors. It’s just a fact. And in these side corridors there’s this ladder and up that ladder, if you go far enough, you’ll come to a very special place, the place where all the ships are and we’re going to need us one of those.

Though when I duck into it, I have to duck back and grab the sleeve of the Jedi because he had the perceptive awareness of a dead slug.

The flight deck is exactly how it’s always been, busy, overcrowded. Filled with crates and things. And then at the front theirs the main airlock, but we won’t be going out through there. We’ll have to get into one of the little fighter ships that gets shot out the sides for battle. They’re not meant for long-range travel, but they’re large enough to have a bed and a mini-fridge and fuel and one will get us back to Kore

They really should change the codes more often; this really is just disorganized. I’m disappointed. This is horrible.

The Jedi peers uncertainly over my shoulder as I fiddle with the control panel nearest one we could find, in a small access corridor above the flight deck, punching in the codes and key prints.

The door de-seals at my command, but over the sound it the sound of a shout and then the sound of a shot, and then the feeling of something slicing though me. At first it doesn’t hurt and all there I can feel is shock, like how I used to feel when someone tried to fit me, like ‘huh, didn’t expect that to happen.’ But then it comes, like time was slowed down and suddenly its going double speed and it’s like I’m on fire, and a gasp bubbles from my throats. Somewhere of in a place that probably isn’t as painful I hear another shot ring out and I think that it might be the Jedi killing whoever it was that shot me and good on him and I collapse. I feel my legs give out beneath me, crumbling under the weight of my bleeding torso and I wait for my body to collide with the floor, only it doesn’t

Because the Jedi catches me.

Picks me up in one solid movement, and I feel my self being carried swiftly into the ship and the words made very clear:

“I want you to know, that I’m saving you. And you owe me.”

 


End file.
